A scene indeed, that Wilkie, in the day of his
power, would have rejoiced to paint.
Arthur, battling fiercely with his outraged pride, and breathing an
inward prayer for strength to go through with his task, for patience to
endure, put Charley from him, and went into the hall. He saw not what
was immediately around him--the inquiring looks of his father and
mother, the necessity of some explanation to them; he saw not Judith
and her curious face. A scale was, as it were, before his eyes,
blinding them to all outward influences, except one-the officers of
justice standing there, and the purpose for which they had come. "What
on earth has happened, Master Arthur?" whispered Judith, as he passed
her, terrifying the old servant with his pale, agitated face. But he
neither heard nor answered; he walked straight up to the men.
"I will go with you quietly," he said to them, in an undertone. "Do not
make a disturbance, to alarm my mother."
We cannot always have our senses about us, as the saying runs. Some of
us, I fear, enjoy that privilege rarely, and the very best lose them on
occasion. But that Arthur Channing's senses had deserted him, he would
not have pursued a line of conduct, in that critical moment, which was
liable to be construed into an admission, or, at least, a consciousness
of guilt. In his anxiety to avert suspicion from Hamish, he lost sight
of the precautions necessary to protect himself, so far as was
practicable.
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